


Vilomah

by KathyIsWeird



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: F/M, Idk it was 5am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyIsWeird/pseuds/KathyIsWeird
Summary: I woke up early one morning and wrote a ficlet about grief.
Relationships: William Riker/Deanna Troi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Vilomah

When Deanna told him that the block of missing time was normal, Riker disagreed and walked so far into the woods, that he couldn’t even hear Kestra yelling. While standing in the dense woods, he broke and whimpered pathetically against a tree. Memories fluttered past him like butterflies in the desert. Some of them are more clear than others. Some taunted him as they brushed against his ears and disappeared into the setting sun.

Grief was strange - it had a unique way of destroying the soul of its host. Why it held such power over the other emotions was somewhat of a destructive mystery. Occasionally flashes of torment, of unbridled sorrow would rip through his body, tearing his soul to shreds and leaving behind a hollowed carcass of a man. It took weeks, months even to recover. There were blocks of time where he was not able to remember his name. He was a man and that was all. 

Though, before his identity as a man - before his title of William Riker - he was a father, a husband and a lover. Loathe to admit his love of space had taken a back seat to the love of his family, Riker was inspired daily by what was left of the family he and Deanna had made from scratch. Every single day they woke up and continued to function, he wept with sheer joy. 

The only problem was that his family seemed to shrink back into the shadows after every disaster. They were quiet and took up less and less space. Shoulders were hunched, and conversations whispered. Losing Thaddeus affected them like nothing else. No one spoke for days - sans Kestra’s sorrowful questions which were only asked in Viveen punctuated by youthful sniffles. The space between them in bed was cold and vast. The screams from their last child’s room, shook his bones and put out the fire in his heart. The papers halfheartedly glued directly to the walls, shuttered in the night when the home was overwhelmingly quiet. The maps and keys that River had tried to memorize taunted his dreams - a message from his son that he would never translate.

After the devastatingly preventable loss of their child, Riker attempted and failed to remain calm. Sometimes he wondered if he tried a little too hard. The memories of that time were grainy, and too sensitive to unpack. There was a black space, a radio silence left where the funeral should be. The last thing he could tangibly remember was saying goodnight to his two children, one of which was withered away to almost nothing. 

Deanna, who still remained the strongest person in his life, never once pushed him to talk about it. Which, to him, indicated that she was hurting far more than she let on. There were stolen glances without eye contact, there was lovemaking with no love, and a lot of quiet nights heavy with audible thinking. He was helpless - something he was not used to. 

Each morning, he would wake just a few minutes before their alarm and simple gaze at her. One of the most precious things grief had stolen from him was the effervescent, loopy, very-in-love gaze that Deanna threw his direction and that instantly righted every wrong in the universe. Her big, empathetic eyes would sweep up and down his body and she would smirk - as if he was a secret only she knew. 

As time went on, and the hurt went from gut-wrenching sorrow to a pain in his chest, little things would bring back memories. Sometimes it was the twinkle of Kestra’s laughter, or the smell of pre-baked pizza crust. 

Today, it was the feeling of her hair, tangled gently in his fingers on their charcoal grey sheets as the sun arose. The sounds of Nepenthe before dawn mixed with the soft strands that covered his fingers, reminded him of the days she spent in bed, curled into herself and silently weeping. Helpless, Will would curl around her from behind and pick a piece of hair to stroke while comforting her in the only way he knew how. 

Later in the day Kestra bounded over to him, her eyes dazzlingly clear in the perfect white light of the overcast day. Her cheeks were caked with mud and whatever else little girls got into while exploring in the woods. She made a small show of giving him a rock, perfectly weathered to make a supremely soft charm. It struck him, as she darted away, that perhaps he too was weathered in the same fashion. He was now far softer than he was decades ago, however he consented to none of it. 

Warm fingertips tapped at his back, a gentle request to be let into him. He leaned into the embrace and hummed quietly in the back of his throat as a golden ochre wave of calm rushed through him. He pulled her close to him, proud of her for having a good day, and kissed her gently on the head. 

Her arms squeezed the doubt from his bones and for the first time in many moons, he leaned in to kiss her gently. Deanna, who’s joy was palpable, ran a hand through his hair and rubbed her thumbs gently over his beard. 

“It feels like I’ve found you, after years of searching,” Deanna whispered to him. “I’ll always find you, so long as you let me in.” 

Will exhaled and looked over her shoulder, towards the home that they built, “It comes back in pieces. Though I’m not sure that I want to remember.” 

“Memories are the greatest gift poses. They’re something unique and precious that only we have,” she whispered before pulling him down gently and kissing him once more. 

“Please let me help you remember.”

“Okay.”


End file.
